Fairest of All (10 page)

“Thank the gods!” the Queen said, clutching her hands to her chest and embracing the girl.

The Prince looked utterly relieved. He placed his hand on her cheek tenderly and said, “Thank goodness you’re alive.”

Snow looked up at him with her father’s eyes,
good
eyes, and said, “Thank you.”

She was clearly smitten with this young man.

The Queen stepped in and said, “Thank you, young sir, but I will take over from here.”

“Of course, my lady, may I call again tomorrow afternoon to check on the fair maiden?”

The Queen could tell he was falling in love with her.

“Perhaps, if she is up to it. Tilley will take you around the back end of the courtyard if you would like to refresh yourself before you depart. Thank you for your assistance.”

Then the Queen grabbed Snow by the arm and whisked her away into the castle.

I
t had been months since Snow White’s accident at the well, and the young Prince who had saved her had come to visit several times. That morning in the garden, while Snow was off helping Tilley, the Prince asked for an audience with the Queen. The Queen knew he would ask for Snow’s hand in marriage. Before he could even make his request, the Queen wanted to make it as clear as possible that he wasn’t to return to the castle. So she quickly decided she would put the issue to rest immediately.

“I am trying to spare your feelings, young man, but you’ve put me in a very uncomfortable situation where I fear I must be nothing but perfectly frank. Snow White does not love you, and I can not let my daughter marry someone she does not love,” she said.

The Prince looked crestfallen.

“I can see you thought otherwise. I’m sorry, dear Prince. Perhaps she was sparing your feelings; she really should have been honest with you,” the Queen said.

The Prince left without another word. The Queen would tell Snow White that the Prince had left a note saying that he did not love her and that he wanted to end their courtship before Snow thought he felt more deeply for her than he really did. She had done the right thing, even if it meant lying to them both. Even if it broke their hearts now, it was nothing compared to losing each other to tragedy, betrayal, or death. But she couldn’t help but feel wicked, too. And that terrified and comforted her all at once.

Somewhere in her heart she knew her motivations were also fueled by jealously. She was envious that Snow should have someone to love her and she should not. How could she stand there and watch them pledge themselves to each other in love when her love was walled away?

And what would the King think of his Queen now? She sometimes imagined that he was looking upon her from wherever he was, judging her for what had become her wicked ways. She felt that something else within her was taking over, and that she no longer had any ability to control her own actions.

But no, Snow White would thank her one day for sparing her heartache. She would understand.

The Queen rushed to her chamber and went again to the mirror. She needed comfort and she received it. As usual, she was fairest.

But when the Queen looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t seem like the same woman. Yes, she was beautiful, but there was something different about her eyes. There was a harshness to her beauty—it was cold and removed. She thought that it added an elegance and majesty to her demeanor, something a queen should possesses. But it didn’t quell her fears that she was losing herself in grief, fear, and most of all, vanity.

Her only comfort it seemed was her Slave, her father, whom she had grown to trust in her years of solitude. She asked him, “Do I seem much changed to you?”

“Indeed, my Queen, you do,” he said.

“How so?” she asked.

“You are stately, queenly, and elegant.”

“Do I seem cold to you?” the Queen asked.

“No, my Queen, you are not cold, you have simply matured into a distinguished woman of high station. You are the Queen and cannot be bothered with matters of the heart.”

Matters of the heart—it seemed not long ago that her heart ruled her. But now, ruling a kingdom in solitude, her heart seemed all but lost. As if her thoughts were open to him, the man in the mirror continued, “A woman of your stature cannot be governed by her emotions, lest she be unable to handle the tasks at hand.”

And with that advice she went about the business of the day.

But she soon faced something she was not expecting.

Tilley came running down a corridor. “My Queen,” she shouted, smiling. “A party has arrived!”

“I was not expecting anyone. Ask them to leave,” the Queen said bitterly.

But before Tilley could give her command, someone had entered the hall.

“It has been so long since I’ve last seen you, Majesty. I have missed you these many long years.”

The Queen felt a flood of emotion—Verona. She quickly checked herself in a hall mirror to allay any fears that she looked ragged. The Queen’s poor shattered heart leaped, and then quickly sank. She did not know what to make of this visit.

Verona had fallen in love on her mission and been married to a lord.

The Queen felt that emotion which had now become familiar to her—a mix of joy and jealousy for her friend.

They had been so very close at one time, and now she wondered how she had gone so many years without Verona’s company and friendship. The thought of it confounded her, but she buried it deep within herself, resolute not to let her love weaken her sense of strength.

Despite her relief to have Verona out of the kingdom, she had missed her so much—especially during those first few months after her departure. She felt icy and horrid when she thought of it, sending her dearest friend away for the sake of vanity and selfishness. Seeing Verona in the castle reawakened something in the Queen—something human and warm. Yes, she was happy to have her friend back in her company.

The Queen arranged a splendid evening just for the two of them in the great hall. The room was glowing with candles, and the table filled with rich, savory foods that she knew were Verona’s favorites. The meal was wonderful, but the conversation was awkward. What does one talk about with an old friend after one has sufficiently reminisced?

After their meal the two ladies retired to the sitting room where they enjoyed fine spirits, which helped the conversation along.

“I regret sending you away, Verona,” the Queen said, though in truth only part of her regretted it. “Had I the opportunity to make the decision again, I do not believe I would send you from this court.”

“Oh, but then I never would have met my lord. I am grateful to you, Majesty. You have brought immense happiness into my life, and I thank you for that,” Verona said.

“You love him, then, this husband of yours?” asked the Queen.

“Yes, of course, why would you ask such a question?” Verona said.

“I am just looking after your heart, my dear friend, that is all. It would distress me to see you hurt by the loss of him. He is away on campaign, is he not? You should prepare yourself for his death.”

“I shall not! Why would you even say such a thing?” Verona said, standing up from her comfortable chair.

“Because this is life, my dear Verona. It is our lot to lose our loves and feel our hearts break in the wake of that loss. I would shield you from it if I could, my friend, but there was nothing anyone could have said to prepare me for the breaking of my soul when the King passed from my life.”

Verona’s eyes were filled with sadness. “I remember that day well, my Queen, and my heart goes out to you, it does; but I cannot live in fear of losing him, for fear of not living my life at all. May I speak frankly with you, Majesty?”

“Yes, please feel free to speak candidly as you always have, Verona. You are an old friend and that does have its privileges,” the Queen said coolly.

“You seem much changed to me, Majesty. You are more beautiful than ever, but something within you has shifted. I fear for your unhappiness and solitude.” Verona continued, “Snow White has written me several times, expressing her concern over you. She is worried that you are so closed off from her. She loves you so much, Majesty, and it breaks my heart to think of you both alone in your grief when you have each other for solace and strength.”

“Snow knows how dear she is to me, Verona. I would perish without her,” the Queen said.

“Why, then, do you never seek her company? Snow is a remarkable young lady, Majesty. Even now, after these many years of near-abandonment, she would still be a great friend to you, if only you extended your hand,” Verona pleaded.

“You dare imply that I have abandoned my daughter?” the Queen snapped.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I thought I could speak honestly with you.”

“So I said, but it breaks my heart, Verona, to hear these words. You do not know what it is to feel your heart break in the wake of tragedy, and you should pray you never do!”

Verona shook her head. “Please, my Queen—and my
friend
. Please go to your daughter, she is not long for this court, as she is approaching the proper marrying age, and I would not see her go from this kingdom without knowing her mother’s love.”

Her mother’s love.
The words resonated with the Queen. She had abandoned Snow White for magic mirrors and spell books from the strange sisters. Was she so mad, so deranged by the loss of her husband, that she should be too afraid to love her daughter for fear of losing her? This was madness, surely! And why did it take Verona’s words to make her see this clearly for the first time? She should have never sent her friend, this woman she once called a sister, from court—to go so long without her companionship, without her council and her love. Perhaps much could have been averted if Verona were here these many long years.

Then the Queen found something stir within her that she had not felt in a great while. Her shattered heart felt suddenly mended.

“I would be much pleased if you extended your stay, Verona. Please say you will remain here for the entirety of your husband’s campaign. I have been without your company for too long, and I do not wish to see you go from me again so quickly.”

“Yes, of course, Majesty, I would be happy to stay in court with you and Snow White.”

“Thank you, Verona. Shall we make a picnic in the woods tomorrow, like old times, the three of us?”

“That would be lovely, Your Majesty. I’m sure that will make Snow very happy, too.”

“Very well, then,” the Queen answered. “We shall leave that dolt Tilley behind. Never in my life have I been met with such incompetence.”

The Queen laughed, and Verona laughed along. But it was no longer the laughter of camaraderie. The Queen’s laugh was one of power and disdain, and Verona’s was uncomfortable.

T
hat evening, while the Queen was alone in her chamber, she began to feel restless. She had already questioned the Slave today. But that was before Verona had returned.

She needed to call on him again.

She needed to know.

She stumbled through the darkened room, approached the Magic Mirror, and summoned the Slave. Then she asked her question.

“I cannot determine who is fairest with Verona at court, my Queen,” the Slave responded. “Your beauty is so close. Elements of hers almost surpass your own. While elements of yours nearly eclipse hers.”

The Queen fought the impulse to banish Verona—even to
kill
her. The urge was powerful, but the Queen found an old strength within her, forged around friendship and love, that allowed her to fight harder.

She ripped the curtains from her windows and wrapped them around the mirror. Then she called for Uncle Marcus’s good friend, the Huntsman. He was perhaps the strongest man in the court and could easily perform the task she had at hand. He arrived quickly and she pushed the mirror toward him.

“Take this with you and bury it deep within the forest. Leave no marker to its whereabouts, and never, no matter how I implore you,
never
tell me where you have buried it—this part is paramount—
never tell me where you have buried it!
Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Queen,” the Huntsman replied.

“And tell absolutely no one of this conversation or where you have hidden it, and whatever you do, do not seek to know what is wrapped in this cloth. I will know if you have deceived me in any way.”

“I would never deceive you, my Queen. Never. I only wish to seek your favor,” the Huntsman said, bowing.

The Queen watched from her window as the Huntsman rode away on a two-horse carriage, with the Magic Mirror wrapped and stowed in the rear. The Huntsman vanished into the forest, taking with him the thing that had bolstered the Queen since her greatest loss, but which had also become her greatest weakness.

H
aving Verona at court should have been a great comfort to the Queen, but she couldn’t keep her mind from drifting to the Magic Mirror or its location, and this made her especially bothered and easily agitated.

It was madness that she should be so consumed. Surely if she asked the Huntsman he would have little choice other than to follow her orders. Perhaps after some persuading, he would reveal the location. But would she subject herself to that torment, the knowledge that she was too weak-minded to keep herself from the mirror? And would she have the Huntsman know of this weakness as well?

The days that followed were pure agony. The Queen was so caught up in her need of the Magic Mirror that she was haunted even in her dreams, leaving her sleepless and ill. Every day that she was parted from the mirror, she seemed to become sicklier—so much so that she often felt near to death.

She often woke terrified to a dream that dominated her restless slumber.…

In the dream she was in the forest, frantically searching for the mirror. The canopy of trees obscured the sky, leaving her alone in darkness and in fear. The sisters were there, too—coming and going, and changing shape and form, the way things do in dreams. The Queen would come upon a freshly disturbed mound of dirt and begin digging with her bare hands. Desperate to find the mirror, she would dig for what felt like an eternity, her hands bleeding, her body weak, and her mind spinning out of control. Finally, she would feel something soft and wet covered in cloth. After unwrapping it she would discover there, in the cloth, a heart, its blood pouring all over her hands.

“Momma?” she would hear. It would be Snow, a young girl once again, standing there with a look of terrible sadness on her little face, her white dressing gown covered in blood, dripping from where her heart once was. Her face blank; her eyes hollow and blackened, her skin ashen, and her expression reproachful. The sisters were always about, giggling their eerie laughter. The Queen would move to scream, but no sound would come, she was so paralyzed with fear.

Every morning she woke, soaked in sweat, anxious from this exact dream, or a similar one. It sent a tremor through her and made her feel weak. She had no control over her own will.

She felt defeated.

One evening she dreamed of the sisters. “Over—there!” they called, standing in the forest, appearing and disappearing under the moonless, midnight sky. “Dig—here—the—Magic—Mirror—your—Slave—” They chattered and laughed, and the moon illuminated their ghastly doll-like faces with a pale blue glow.

And when she awoke the morning after this dream, she found something wrapped in soiled cloth sitting on the floor beside her bed. Her hands, too, were covered in earth, and her nightdress was tattered and caked with mud.

She thought she must still have been dreaming. Or, had she gone into the forest in search of the mirror while she slept? For the first time in more than a week she felt renewed, her strength coming back to her and her sense of self returning. She unwrapped the large object and there—staring back at her—was her reflection. She collapsed on top of the mirror and embraced it like a lost lover returned.

Something within her had changed. Verona was right. She wasn’t the same woman who had married the King those many years ago; she was something wholly different and it frightened her. But it also gave her a sense of strength and of power. She would never be parted from the Magic Mirror again. Her life, her
soul
, seemed dependent upon it. She tore open the cloth that covered the mirror revealing its face.

“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

“Your beauty is beyond compare, but Verona is fairest.”

“Perhaps then,” the Queen said, smiling wickedly, “it is time for her to go.”